


Apt

by airandangels



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, rather silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airandangels/pseuds/airandangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A truly silly effort to write a small AU in which Julian and Garak are just living together - because deesarrachi wanted an AU in which DS9 is an apartment building.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deesarrachi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=deesarrachi).



> My initial stab at it:  
> I can see the building, with Keiko’s windowboxes and roof garden, and Quark’s bar down in the basement down a flight of stairs from the street like Cheers, and everything’s slightly shabby and shitty and O’Brien is always under a sink or in the ceiling cavity quietly cussing the previous owner (Dukat - who kept his keys to the building and keeps showing up and hitting on Kira, who shares an apartment with Jadzia on the fourth floor).  
> Odo (who has a thankless job as a mall cop) grumphs at Jake and Nog for dangling off the fire escape.  
> (oh and the Enterprise D is a much nicer building across town)  
> The Sisko bought the building as a fixer-upper opportunity thing, since it came with good sitting tenants, and now realises he just hadno idea what he was getting into.
> 
> This was based on deesarrachi’s earlier post, Meme of Domesticity:  
> Deep Space Husbands!  
> who is the big spoon/little spoon I feel like Julian is the little spoon mostly because then Garak can curl around him and get all warm on his belly, like a happy lizard on a sun-warmed rock.  
> what is their favorite non-sexual activity SPY GAMES. Sometimes actual holosuite programs, but sometimes Garak just comes up with an elaborate hide-and-seek style game with clues and hints and he rounds up, like, O’Brien and Jadzia to be ~informants and it’s ridiculous and silly but the way Julian’s face lights up makes it worth it.  
> who uses all the hot water in the morning Garak. No question. (or possibly… all the lower pitches in the sonic shower? Idk I’m not sure how much water they actually use on DS9 /o\\)  
> what they order from take out Klingon food (Julian) or Vulcan dishes (Garak)  
> what is the most trivial thing they fight over Literary merits of famous/popular Cardassian novels versus trashy spy novels that Julian loves. (he defends himself by saying that at least he is aware that they are trashy and unrealistic and that’s why he likes them so much.)  
> who does most of the cleaning I’d say Garak.  
> what has a season pass in their DVR Anything involving spies, and Garak will deny to your death that he has seen every episode of Project: Runway (by now in season 324654, clearly) multiple times.  
> who controls the netflix queue Garak. But only because Julian doesn’t really care enough.  
> who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working Garak. Complete with heavily veiled threats.  
> who steals the blankets Garak, every night. When it gets really cold, Julian gets a second comforter to wrap around himself in an attempt to have something. (he still wakes up cold and blanketless)  
> who leaves their stuff around Julian, but neither of them are really messy messy.  
> who remembers to buy the milk Garak, especially when Julian is putting in long hours doing research/patching people up (depending on if this is during the Dominion War or in a happily ever after)  
> who remembers anniversaries Hmmm. Probably both of them, but Julian’s more likely to actually say something. Nothing big, just an understated lunch together at the replimat
> 
> That’s just for... context, for whatever it’s worth. This is just a wad of fluff, with self-indulgent smut, playing with the scenario. The setting in place and time is purposely vague, but I went for approximately present-day north-eastern USA because that’s where all the clichés of apartment life that I know of come from, thank you Television from Sesame Street to Friends.

Julian’s phone alarm started peeping at him when it was still dark outside, and he reached out quickly to silence it before it woke up Garak too. He’d set it to a pitch that Garak couldn’t hear as well as he could, but if it went on long it would disturb him. He had an early shift at the hospital today, and Garak’s work day didn’t start until later, so he wanted to let him sleep. Julian pulled his arm back inside the covers and lay still for a moment, trying to find the will to get out of bed. Bed was so _warm,_ especially with Garak curled up at his back, arm round his waist and hand on his chest, one leg twined between his, in their cocoon of blankets and down. He wasn’t _exactly_ cold-blooded but he didn’t thermoregulate well on his own, and since Julian was naturally warmer Garak treated him as a sort of animate hot-water-bottle, particularly in the winter.

It was dark, very dark. He could hear a knocking and banging in the pipes as someone on the floor above took a shower. The building was waking up. He tried to unwind himself from Garak without waking him up, but the arm around his waist tightened and he felt a drowsy kiss, nose and lips pressed into the soft side of his neck.

‘Stay asleep,’ he whispered.

‘Mrrmmm,’ Garak replied, more of a rumble than a word. He rolled away and curled up on his other side, quite self-contained. Julian went through his morning routine as quietly as he reasonably might, shower, shave, clothes, fuelling himself up with tea and porridge. He went back to kiss Garak goodbye before he left and found him reading - _his_ book, which he hadn’t finished yet.

‘Don’t lose my place.’ He leaned across the bundled bedclothes to press a quick kiss to Garak’s cheek.

‘I’m using two bookmarks.’

‘Love you.’

‘I’ll meet you for lunch.’

Kira-upstairs was in the elevator when it opened for him, taking a basket of towels down to the laundry room. She worked odd hours, he wasn’t really sure as what; she wasn’t as friendly and chatty as her flatmate Jadzia, who was quite something. If there hadn’t been Garak he’d have been after her like a shot. They said good morning pleasantly enough, but not much more. Kira had a bit of a chip on her shoulder and he’d said something tactless the first time they met, for which he hadn’t yet redeemed himself.

Outside he found that it had snowed heavily in the night, and the leaden tone of the gradually lightening sky suggested that there would be more along later in the day. He wasn’t the only one out this early. The super, O’Brien, was out with shovel and yard broom clearing a path from the front steps to the sidewalk, the building being set back slightly from the street. Julian perked up a bit, because he was working on making O’Brien his friend. He was sure it could be done. After all, here they both were, British, well, British-ish - that should be a foundation for something. More in common than with a lot of the people around them. On the other hand, there were all sorts of barriers of age - O’Brien must have ten or fifteen years on him - and class and education.

He couldn’t help noticing the contrasts. Here he was in his dark wool overcoat, tailored by Garak, and there was O’Brien in a grey-green padded parka that he thought might be army surplus. His gloves were smooth black leather and O’Brien’s were pilled grey wool. His head was bare, because he’d never quite worked out what sort of hat looked right on him, and O’Brien was wearing a knitted watch-cap, pulled down to cover the tops of his ears. They both had red cheeks from the cold and dragon-breath wafting in front of their faces.

O’Brien, he knew, had a wife and two children; the wife was a botanist or horticulturalist or something at the university, the children were at kindergarten and preschool. They had a garden up on the roof; when he and Garak had moved in, in autumn, they had been harvesting pumpkins and the wife, Keiko, had presented a surprised Garak with a very large one as a housewarming gift. He, Julian, had gone up to their apartment a bit later to give them a loaf of the pumpkin and ginger tea-bread he’d baked with part of it, and when Keiko had opened the door he’d seen over her shoulder that O’Brien was watching _The Man Who Would Be King_ on TV while building, on the coffee table, a model of the bridge in the movie. Ergo, they _were_ going to be friends.

‘Good morning,’ he said, putting his best foot forward and stepping down to join O’Brien.

‘Howyeh,’ O’Brien mumbled into his muffler. ‘I’ll have this out of the way in a mo.’

‘How are you?’ Julian offered a pleasant smile.

‘All right. You?’ O’Brien didn’t look up, concentrating on his digging, turning the shovelfuls of snow neatly to alternate sides of the path he was creating.

‘Oh, I’m fine. Great. Tip top, really. Did you, ah, did you see _Braveheart_ ’s on TV tonight?’

‘Got the DVD.’ Shovel into the snow, grate on paving stones, grunt, lift, turn, dump, back, shovel into the snow.

‘Oh, well, that’s much better. No ad breaks. You can really get into it. That’s one of my favourites.’

‘Yeah? Like Mel Gibson, do you?’

‘I suppose he was all right before he went mad.’

‘Yeah, that’s what my wife says.’ Grunt, lift, turn, dump, step forward. Julian followed behind, shifting his bag from one hand to the other for something to do. He felt he was missing his target by just a bit, as if O’Brien assumed he was just talking about movies in, well, a gay way, a way that cut the common ground out from between them. He still wasn’t used to people reacting to him as _a gay person_ , and got into conversational knots trying to make it clear that he was actually bisexual, although totally committed to his present relationship, and actually attracted to women more often than to men, it was just that Garak was a very special case, and he actually didn’t want the whole question of his sexuality to dominate discussions with people it didn’t actually concern... because it just made things uncomfortable, actually. Not that he was ashamed of it or anything, but he did sometimes wish it could just slip under the radar.

 _Gladiator’_ s good too,’ he tried. _Oh God, did I really just bring gladiator movies into it >_

‘Ah, right, you like Russell Crowe.’ _That_ makes sense of _that_ , the tone seemed to imply, and Julian felt stung into explaining.

‘Well, that’s not the _only_ reason. The story, you know, and the battles. They’re brilliant. Military history is an interest of mine, and I think maybe yours too?’

O’Brien stopped and leaned on his shovel for a moment, looking at him appraisingly. ‘Yeah, as it goes.’

‘I noticed your bridge. British engineering, eh? Danny and Peachy?’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘Another great movie.’ _Give me_ something _, please. And I actually do fancy Sean Connery, but I think I’ll leave that out for now._

‘One of the best.’

‘Could I borrow your DVD?’ _Do you want to come over and watch it at mine? Do you want to be friends? I wish we were ten and I could just ask you over to play._

‘I suppose so. I mean, aren’t you always getting movies from that Netflix thing? Postman’s always bringing those envelopes.’

‘Garak’s really in charge of that. And, you know, why bother Netflix when you have it just upstairs? You could borrow any of mine. You should come over and see what I’ve got, after work. I’ll be home after six.’

‘Got a work thing with Keiko tonight. A big college dinner, fundraising or something. I’ll have to wear my monkey suit, bloody uncomfortable. I wouldn’t mind staying in with a movie instead, but you know, you’ve got to do these things, haven’t you? It’s give and take.’

‘Exactly. You know, if your suit’s uncomfortable, I could ask Garak to have a look. He can do wonders with alterations and he’s very reasonable.’

‘You reckon? I thought that sort of thing was really expensive.’

‘It gets more expensive the more the client expects to pay, if you know what I mean. He’s always buying me clothes that I don’t think fit at all, then he takes them in and up and it’s as if they were made for me. Look, if you’re busy tonight, come tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, all right.’ O’Brien broke through to the sidewalk and stepped aside to let Julian through. ‘Bye then.’

‘See you later!’ He walked on telling himself not to swing his briefcase like a happy ninny.

 

* * *

 

It was a busy day, rounds and consultations all morning and surgery scheduled for all afternoon, so it was a relief to step out for his lunch hour. Ordinarily he would have eaten quickly in the hospital cafeteria and taken some time afterwards to read, go for a walk or just chat to a colleague, but Garak would have chosen somewhere for them to eat, with his usual way of sniffing out delicious yet tiny and inexpensive restaurants. He was waiting outside on the corner, in a heavy overcoat with a scarf muffled up to his eyes, so that Julian kissed him on the forehead, no cheek being available.

‘The only redeeming feature of winter,’ Garak said, his voice literally muffled, ‘is you going around all winsomely rosy-cheeked. Rosy-nosed, too.’

‘I’ll take you on a Christmas holiday somewhere hot,’ Julian said, taking his hand and squeezing it through two layers of glove. ‘The Caribbean, maybe.’

‘It will have to be post-New Year,’ Garak said. ‘I’m much too busy with party season coming up. We’re going this way, to an Albanian place that’s just opened - and I expect you to be prepared to defend that terrible book you’ve been reading.’

‘Nobody made you read it too,’ Julian protested as they sat down at a corner table in a faintly shabby little café. The waiter placed them opposite each other, but he scooted his chair around to sit at right angles to Garak and moved his place-setting over.

‘I’d finished the new Kerat and I had to read _something.’_

‘Oh, can I have it now? I want to see if he’s actually outdone his previous feat of producing a repetitive epic in which nothing ever happens, repeatedly.’

‘Don’t try to sidetrack me. It’s the most appalling pulp. All big guns and luxury goods and women of easy virtue.’

‘Exactly!’ Julian beamed.

‘You’re so _intelligent,_ Julian. You could be reading something that actually explores moral and spiritual issues, something that grapples with the hard questions of how best to live in the world as it is, at least something that doesn’t have a cover picture of a mushroom cloud behind a strumpet in a bikini.’

‘I thought that was quite witty really, because the bikini swimsuit was named for the nuclear tests at Bikini Atoll. A-ha. Intelligent! And it was invented by a French car engineer who had somehow ended up running a lingerie shop belonging to his mother. The mind boggles, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s very Oedipal, I’m sure, but you still haven’t marshalled a convincing defence of the trash you read.’

‘To quote an eminent twentieth-century critic, I love it _because_ it’s trash.’

‘Pauline Kael?’

‘Oscar the Grouch. Anyway, I promise to read _your_ book and I promise to find _something_ I like about it, even if it’s only the typeface.’

Garak was not to be so easily turned away, though, and as they ate (dolma for starters, followed by tavë kosi for Julian and harapash for Garak) he embarked on an extensive critique of the spy novel that made Julian determined to retaliate in some way. There was only one other table occupied, over by the window, and they were partially screened from view by a large potted plant. The tablecloth was of generous dimensions. Keeping a look of bland innocence on his face and his fork in his left hand, he put his right under the table on Garak’s thigh. This got him a mild warning look. He gazed back calmly and slid his hand upward, giving a light squeeze at the top.

‘Young man, you are riding for a fall,’ Garak said, equally calmly, and went on with his annoyance at Ian Fleming’s compulsive product placement and the culture of shallow brand-driven consumerism in place of real elegance and sophistication. Julian rested his chin on his hand, looked interested and snaked his other hand into Garak’s pocket. Garak always made generous pockets in his trousers, for ease of carrying bits and pieces around in his shop, and they provided plenty of room for an exploratory stroke along the length of his cock. Julian was amused and pleased to find that he’d already secured a reaction there; or perhaps ranting about Fleming’s vulgarity made Garak hard, whichever. He gave his full attention, or appeared to, all eyes and ears while his hand worked away, bringing the hidden erection to full bloom.

‘You little beast,’ Garak said under his breath, closing his eyes briefly.

‘I know. I do read terrible stuff. But you know, it’s a sort of release. When I’m tired or stressed or tense, I escape into that ridiculous world. I’ve always gone on adventures in my head when the real world can’t live up to my standards. I think anyone with a decent imagination has to.’ He was always impressed by Garak’s self-control when he did things like this. He could only tell what was going on because he knew him so well (and, well, because he was rubbing his thick, hard cock through the soft lining of his pocket). He blinked a little more often, his pupils were slightly dilated, and there was a dark flush rising in the fine crevices between his scales. No moaning, no quivering, nothing - he himself would have been a panting mess.

‘Do you still find that the world isn’t up to your standards?’

‘I don’t think the world will ever have quite enough car chases and ingenious gadgets and last-minute escapes to suit me, but there’s a lot that I like. I don’t mind the lack of bikini strumpets at all.’

‘They would freeze to death in this weather.’ Garak stabbed at his food and chewed savagely as Julian deftly unbuttoned his fly one-handed, slipping his long fingers in to wrap and milk him directly.

‘Would you lend a bikini strumpet your warm coat if you saw her shivering on the corner?’

‘No fear. She’s a grown woman and I’m afraid she must take responsibility for her own decision to parade about in swimwear in Decem - ber.’

There’d been a moment of tension there, Julian thought. Garak turned a very brief pleading look towards him, and he gazed back fondly, rubbing steadily, implacably, feeling slick wetness drizzle down over his fingers.

‘But perhaps,’ Garak went on, clearing his throat imperceptibly, ‘you would feel differently. Honour bound to be a gentleman, and risk a chill.’

‘I think so. Would you take care of me if, enfeebled by the cold, I succumbed to some sort of viral lurghi?’

‘Because you’d been so foolish as to give away the perfectly good coat that I made you?’

‘Oh, please.’

‘Is that what the strumpet said? And did she make that face?’

‘One very like it, I suspect.’

‘Well.’ Garak stopped and shifted in his chair, breathing in deeply through his nose. ‘Well, I suppose I might take pity on you if you looked sufficiently feeble.’

‘I always take care of you when you’re feeling sick, after all.’

‘Yes, but you have a vocation for it, whereas I...’ He closed his eyes tightly and was still for a moment. Julian felt a jerk in his hand and a sticky flood in his palm, and felt quietly exultant. ‘Whereas I don’t,’ Garak finished, a trace feebly.

They composed themselves; Julian found his handkerchief and wiped his hand under the table, because wanking your boyfriend off in a restaurant was devilish fun but wiping the spunk on the tablecloth would just be crass, while Garak buttoned himself up. Julian pushed his luck sufficiently to throw Garak one triumphant glance, and got such a glare in return that he had to clamp his lips together in order not to laugh.

Before he went back into the hospital, Garak pulled him close for a moment, as if to kiss him goodbye; instead he leaned in and hissed in his ear ‘I’ll pay you back for that, _dear.'_

The ‘happy ninny’ prohibition was once again necessary.

 

* * *

 

Julian made his way home with aching feet but a sense of achievement at the day’s work. He had spent his afternoon fixing hearts, after all, and everyone concerned seemed to have a very good chance of recovery. He exchanged nods with the stout gentleman heading down to Quark’s, the neighbourhood bar that occupied the basement level of the building, accessible by a small staircase to one side of the front railings. A path had been trodden to it through the snow, rather than neatly cleared by O’Brien’s labours. They had been worried, before moving in, about noise from the bar at night, but apart from a few major holidays the clientele seemed to be able to keep it to a dull roar.

Garak wasn’t home yet, which wasn’t unexpected; he often stayed late to finish some garment or other, or obliged a good client by squeezing in an after-business-hours fitting. The apartment was dark but not too chilly, and became pleasant quickly once he got the lights on and closed the curtains. There was a wonderful smell issuing from the kitchen, where some sort of Cardasserole was quietly blurping in the slow-cooker; Garak must have started that before he left in the morning. So no dinner to organise. Lovely. He opened a bottle of wine, got out two glasses, and half-filled one for himself, sipping while he changed out of his smart young surgeon’s suit into a more relaxed shirt and pants. He was lying on the couch half-watching the news and thinking about growing a beard when he heard Garak’s key in the lock and sat up to say hello.

He hadn’t really been expecting a civil greeting, given his behaviour at lunch, but nor had he been expecting to be seized and thrown over Garak’s knee for a spanking that knocked the wind out of him.

‘Got that out of your system?’ he asked when he could speak. He was glad he’d had his trousers on for that; his backside felt hot all over as it was.

‘Not yet,’ Garak said tersely. To Julian’s genuine shock - it wasn’t like him to handle clothes this way - he yanked his shirt open, sending buttons flying, then pulled the sleeves down Julian’s arms to bind them behind him. ‘After that display in the restaurant, you don’t really think you’ll get off so lightly, do you?’ He threw Julian down over the arm of the couch, his face on the seat cushion and his bottom in the air.

‘Well, _you_ certainly got off,’ Julian protested, twisting his head to get his face clear, ‘so really you might be thanking me.’

‘Pants down, I think.’ Another fearsome yank, and a rip, and they were down around his knees, his shorts too.

‘Garak!’

‘That’s some improvement.’ A stinging swat on his bare skin, a surge of heat as blood rushed to the spot.

‘You’re mean and horrible!’

‘Yes, my dear, and you chose quite deliberately to provoke me. Now just wait there, while I decide what I should do with you.’ Garak poured himself a glass of wine and stood sipping it, regarding Julian with a critical eye. ‘Stop pouting.’

‘This is very uncomfortable.’

‘Strangely, so is being molested in a public place.’

‘I was _not_ molesting you. I was being free-spirited and and sexy and fun, thank you very much.’

‘You were being a depraved little tramp. In front of the Albanians, too.’

‘Huh, you loved it. You were hard before I even touched you.’

‘Ah. A solution presents itself.’ Garak walked away, out of Julian’s line of sight, and came back carrying the tennis racquet he had left propped against the hallstand, testing its weight, spinning it in his hand.

‘Oh, Garak, no,’ Julian said with a little gasp of disbelieving laughter.

‘I’m perfectly serious. You wanted me to play, didn’t you?’

‘If I can’t walk tomorrow...’

‘We both know how resilient you are, dear.’ Garak stepped up, making a sort of preparatory feint, pressing the flat of the racquet to Julian’s buttocks. He felt the dig of the strings and wet his lips nervously, imagining the white lines they left when lifted away, something to aim for.

‘That’s chalking the cane, and you know it’s cheating.’

‘You’re perfectly right. Shall we allow a moment more for anticipation?’ Garak stepped back and sipped from his glass. ‘This will go nicely with dinner, I think.’

'I don’t suppose you could let me off this once...’ Julian squirmed, trying to find a slightly more comfortable position across the padded arm of the couch, at least to be better braced to receive what was coming.

‘I would be entirely remiss in my duty to do so. Now hold still, and try to learn your lesson.’ The only warning Julian had was the clink of the glass being set down and one forceful footstep forwards; then a backhand stroke across his buttocks, landing with an audible _thwack_ and making him gasp. His legs twitched involuntarily, pushing off from the floor and raising his bottom, and before he had time to catch his breath another blow landed, and everything was shock and heat and stinging.

‘Aah!’

‘Serves you right.’ Backhand, forehand, Julian’s face driven into the couch cushion with each blow, his skin on fire, Garak grunting slightly with the effort of each stroke.

‘Oh Garak - God - please!’

‘Hmm?’

‘Nothing, nothing.’

‘Good. Because -’ _thwack_ \- ‘you’re not -’ _thwack!_ \- ‘finished.’ _Thwack!_ Garak stood back, and Julian could hear him panting slightly. ‘Six of the best should do, for now at least.’ He dropped the racquet with a clatter, grabbed Julian’s hips and pulled him back a bit, reaching under to feel his erection. ‘Yes, that clearly did for you.’

‘Oh God...’ Julian thrust into his hand reflexively. ‘Oh, please please please...’

‘Shh.’ A firm hand gripping his hip, buttons popping, cock warm and hard against his stinging flesh, rubbing up and down the cleft, sleek and wet.

‘Ple-he-hease...’ Oh, God, he could feel the head of it pushing into his anus now, pushing in then drawing away, teasing him unbearably.

‘Will you be good?’

‘Yes, yes, I promise, please... oh! Oh! Oh God!’

‘Ah... dear...’ Garak bent low over his back, leaning deep into him, the pressure and fullness bringing tears to his eyes and making his hips stutter against the couch. He drew back after a long moment’s savouring, thrusting lightly and briskly, enjoying the friction of it, the way Julian’s muscles twitched and seized at this early stage, the way he panted and mewled, completely abandoned to the needs of his body. Another sharp smack on Julian’s bruised rump, making him flinch and groan, the other side, to even him up, the pleasure of it growing in a sweet, slow burn.

‘Oh Garak... oh, oh that’s so... oh!’

‘Just a moment.’ Garak pulled out, grabbed Julian’s thigh and rolled him over, onto his back, pushing his legs up and apart and thrusting back in. ‘I want to _see_ you come.’

Julian arched his back, biting his lip, whimpering. Garak was so _strong_ and being _thrown around_ like this, and the _angle_ , the way his cock was now _thumping_ the prostate - he couldn’t even form words, his whimpers growing into yelps and moans until they were a long, broken howl and he was coming helplessly.

Garak slumped over him, heavy and stifling, and his knees were practically at his ears, and it was hard to breathe, and his arse was burning. He felt blissfully, stupidly, weakly happy.

Lips on his neck, his chin, his nose; Garak’s forehead resting on his and the cartilage of the ‘spoon’ denting his skin.

‘There,’ Garak said, his voice a soft contented rumble.

‘That showed me,’ Julian breathed. ‘I am _thoroughly_ chastened.’

‘Mmrrrmmm. You don’t sound very penitent to me.’

‘That’s just the endorphins talking.’

‘I’ve done the best I can. Excuse me, my dear.’ He eased himself out and off and walked away, a little unsteadily. With difficulty, Julian managed to scoot himself back along the seat of the couch and lower his legs. He could hear Garak in the bathroom, pissing, flushing, washing, coming back. He slid his arm under Julian’s back and lifted him, freed his arms. ‘Not too uncomfortable, I hope.’

‘Fine,’ Julian said, stretching. His shoulders were sweetly sore, and as usual after a session like this, he felt a little sheepish about needing this kind of thing sometimes, but deeply, achingly glad that he had someone who provided it so thoroughly and well.

‘Go and clean yourself up, then, and I’ll see about dinner.’

Julian limped to the bathroom, did what he could with a washcloth and inspected the damage in the mirror. Oof. Fresh red and purple bruises with an interesting cross-hatch effect.

‘My arse looks like a waffle,’ he called out cheerfully, pulling on his dressing-gown.

‘I’m very happy for you,’ Garak called back from the kitchen. Julian went to join him, finding him measuring out rice, wrapped his arms around him from behind and rested his chin on his shoulder.

‘I love you an awful lot.’ He tightened his arms around Garak’s middle, pressing his lips and nose against the side of his neck and breathing in the smell of him, all mixed up with his own sweat. ‘Thank you.’

‘And I you - or I wouldn’t go to such trouble to correct you.’

‘Mm-hmm. Garak?’

‘Yes?’

‘I do love how you pick a fight.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear. Would you go and get my wine glass? Bring your own, of course, and keep me company.’

Dinner was excellent, although Julian was better able to enjoy it after Garak considerately provided a pack of frozen peas for him to sit on. After their meal they returned to the couch, where Garak read and ignored the TV, while Julian lay with his head on Garak’s lap and watched the movie. He felt cossetted, Garak’s hand on his head, absently stroking his hair. He occasionally made little tutting sounds, whether at his new book or at the story on screen.

In bed they made love once more, much more carefully, falling asleep tangled together in the deep dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small addendum which is mostly sex.

‘Well!’ Julian said, pushing the door shut behind him with his hip and dropping his gym bag and racquet in the hall with a clatter, ‘something funny happened to _me!’_ He took off his coat, and after a moment’s thought, his sweater as well. As usual when Garak was left alone in the apartment, he had turned up the heat quite lavishly.

‘Oh?’ Garak looked up from the couch, where he had been reading and balancing a cup of tea on his chest. ‘I thought you were just going to play squash with your new best friend; I didn’t realise the scope for mirth was so great.’

‘We did play squash. I won. Thanks for asking. Anyway, he put up a good fight, and off we went, rosy-cheeked, to the showers.’ Julian clambered over the arm of the couch and sat down at the opposite end to Garak, arranging his own legs on either side of his. ‘But don’t worry. This isn’t going to be _that_ sort of a story.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what sort you mean,’ Garak said, and sipped the last of his tea.

‘We’d got out of the shower and were drying off when I realised he was looking at me oddly. Not making eye contact, though. In point of fact, he appeared to be casting sidelong glances at my body and then hurriedly looking away.’

‘And him a married man.’

‘Well, I was just going to say something to that effect when I realised I still had an awful lot of bruises on my bum. They aren’t really sore any more, so I’d forgotten about them, but it’s still grey and yellow, quite visibly. I didn’t know what to say, and he was obviously very embarrassed, and when I _caught_ him looking he went scarlet and started talking very fast and loud about _Top Gear._ But then, when we were nearly home, he suddenly dragged me down the stairs to the bar saying we were going to have a drink, and no arguing.’

‘I see how Mrs O’Brien succumbed to his charms.’

‘Shush, anyway, he sat me down and got us drinks and sat there looking _fiercely_ uncomfortable, until suddenly he very earnestly blurted out that he was concerned about me, and even though we don’t know each other very well yet, he wanted me to know I could count on him, and if I needed a place to stay till I got things sorted out I only had to ask. And I shouldn’t stay with someone who was hurting me, I didn’t deserve that, no-one did. And if I wouldn’t feel safe staying in the same building as you, I could stay with his sister uptown, she wouldn’t mind at all. He didn’t let me get a word in edgeways -’

‘Which must have been a new experience for you,’ Garak put in.

‘He was just so _kind._ It was really lovely of him. It seemed almost a shame to tell him I wasn’t being battered at all. He didn’t believe me at first, quite sensibly, asking why, if you weren’t beating me, I was so bruised. So although I knew it would embarrass him worse than ever, I had to explain about the whole... spanky business.’

‘Did you have to, my dear? He looks at me oddly enough as it is.’

‘I wasn’t thrilled either, but how else could I explain it? Assaulted by a mad tennis instructor? So, yes, he went scarlet again, and it took some talking to make it quite clear that there was nothing abusive about it, it was mutually consensual and _enjoyable._ I could see him wanting to ask what I enjoyed about it, and not really wanting to know. Anyway, in the end, he let it go, but restated his offer to help me if I ever needed it.’

‘Ah, so he still, deep down, believes I’m an abusive brute. This will be fun.’

‘I’m sorry, Garak, I thought you’d get a laugh out of it. It _was_ pretty funny - he was so flustered.’ Julian lifted Garak’s feet into his lap, pulled off his slippers and gently rubbed their soles with his thumbs. ‘And he’ll get to see that his suspicions are unfounded when I go on being just fine and perfectly happy with you.’

‘But I can’t even give you a little gentle correction now and then, if he’s going to be peering at your buttocks for the lightest mark.’

‘Actually, I think we should just go on as normal. If we stop after this, it makes it look as if I went home and said “O’Brien is onto you, you’d better stop”.’

‘I feel damned if I do and damned if I don’t.’

‘At least you get your feet rubbed. Nice?’

‘As always. You have very clever hands.’ 

‘One thing I particularly like about you is that your feet don’t smell. Therefore rubbing them is never any hardship.’

‘I’ve... held back from commenting on how your feet sometimes smell.’

Julian smirked slightly. ‘No you haven’t.’

‘I may have commented _briefly._ Ouch. Ooh, that’s better.’

‘Well, sometimes my feet smell cheesy. Sometimes you pick off your old scales and leave them stuck to the bathroom sink. We both have disgusting personal qualities.’ He tweaked Garak’s big toe, then lowered his feet onto the couch cushions. A little awkwardly, he drew up his own legs, moved forward onto his knees, and crawled forward to look Garak in the eye. ‘I seem to like you anyway.’

‘Strange, but true.’ 

‘And, less strangely I think, I do love your face.’ Julian kissed the indentation in Garak’s forehead. His voice was low, warm and amused. ‘You are... just... gorgeous. But you’re well aware of _that.’_

‘Still nice to hear it.’ Garak tipped up his face, holding Julian’s gaze, the corners of his mouth very slightly curled. 

‘God, you’ve got lovely eyes. I hope you know that just the way you look at me sometimes makes me hard. Well, I think you must, and that’s why you look at me _that_ way.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘In front of other people, too... so I sit there all flustered and consumed with lust, trying to hide the bulge.’

‘Are you bulgy now?’

‘Getting there.’ Julian leaned in and gave him a gentle, deep kiss, his jaw moving slowly and lazily. He lowered his body onto Garak’s with a soft grunt and a slow exhalation, and Garak’s hands slid onto his knees and up his thighs to cup his buttocks. ‘Ah... that’s lovely.’ He kissed him again, drawing back a fraction and fluttering his tongue against the tip of Garak’s, a little further and trappping Garak’s lower lip between his teeth, not quite biting but holding it a long moment before letting it go.

‘You seem to be in a frisky mood.’

‘M-hm.’ He kissed Garak’s chin, tipping it up with the side of his forefinger, and his lips travelled along the line of his jaw. Then his teeth nipped lightly at the ridge running from the base of Garak’s ear, lightly worrying his way along. ‘Rrr.’

‘Pff.’ Garak closed his eyes contentedly. ‘Neck, please.’

‘Mm.’ Julian’s wet mouth moved down from his ear, first lightly, then sealing his lips to the thick ridge and sucking hard enough to make Garak very gently squirm. Down to the collarbone, across, down from the other ear, finally licking the notch at the base of his throat. He began unbuttoning his shirt, spreading it open, dragging his fingertips down Garak’s chest to his belly, then his nails. Trails of sweet prickling fire seemed to run through Garak’s skin, and he grunted a little.

‘That’s right,’ Julian murmured, shuffling back. ‘Feel free to moan... maybe even whimper.’

‘No. That’s you.’

‘Hmph.’ He pulled his teeshirt off over his head and dropped it over the back of the couch.

‘Darling boy, I’ve heard you _whinny._ Ow! _Biting...’_

‘’mananimal. Rrr.’ Julian grabbed the waistband of Garak’s trousers in his teeth and tugged at it.

‘I don’t fuck animals. But I’ll be impressed if you can get those undone without using your hands.’

‘A’right.’ The button at the top almost foiled him; that bit of waistband was soggy by the time he figured out how to work it free with his teeth and tongue. ‘Aha!’

‘Three more buttons, my darling.’

‘Aren’t you impressed yet?’

‘I’m only impressed by completion.’

‘Mmm.’ Julian rubbed his cheek against the rising bulge straining the buttons. A wet spot was seeping through beneath the patch he’d made with his saliva. He set to work on the smaller buttons, more confidently.

‘You’re snuffling.’ Garak combed his fingers into Julian’s hair, closed them and gave a gentle shake. 

‘Mmph.’ With a slightly exaggerated gesture, Julian put his hands together behind his back, as if he were bobbing for apples. He freed the second button with a nip and a tug, and went on to the last, his brows drawn together in concentration until he popped that one too. He nuzzled into the fly, murmuring ‘But I can’t get your pants down this way.’

‘I’ll relent, then.’ Garak pushed down his underwear, lifting his hips. His cock rose up, gleaming wet, and Julian made an eager little sound, leaning in to lick the head. He fluttered his tongue rapidly, delicately, tickling it, glancing up at Garak from under his lashes. ‘Instead of teasing me, _suck.’_

‘Mm...’ Julian drew him in deep, with a steady, wide-eyed gaze.

‘Oh, _good_ boy.’ Garak tipped back his head, breathing hard, his nostrils flaring. _‘Good..._ swallow me.’

‘No.’ Julian drew back and began to lick up and down the ribbed shaft, his breath gusting and tickling. ‘Aah...’ 

‘Do you know how sluttish you look? Worshipping my cock that way?’

‘Mmm.’ Julian nuzzled down to the base and repeated his lip-trap trick there, gripping lightly, working his jaw very slightly back and forth. ‘Yum.’ Gradually he applied more pressure, sliding up, scraping over the thick ribs with his lower front teeth, making Garak hiss softly between his own teeth. ‘Of course I worship your cock.’ He gave up on the hands-free approach, gripping the shaft with one hand and stroking Garak’s inner thigh with the other as he sucked the head again, moaning low in his throat. 

‘As... ah... as you should...’ He shuddered sweetly and tightened his grip in Julian’s hair, catching his breath sharply as he felt a fingertip against his anus. Slicked with a mixture of his own wetness and Julian’s saliva, it circled, rubbed, squirmed its way in while he gasped, turning, seeking, bearing down on the sensitive little nodules inside him. ‘Oh... oh!’ He was gone, overcome with delight and relief, coming helplessly. 

He felt Julian lay down his head on his belly, heavy and warm, and he stroked his hair, his hand shaking. 

‘Good?’ Julian asked, his voice husky and thick. Garak tweaked his ear. ‘Yes... I know I’m good.’

‘And... what do you want in exchange?’

‘Oh, I’m happy to bring myself off for now. You just relax.’ Julian shifted his position, taking himself in hand and rubbing briskly.

‘Darling boy... how can I relax when you’re jiggling about like that?’

‘Ooh... just a bit... just a bit longer...’ Julian was panting, and when Garak lifted his head to look down at him, his face was flushed red, his eyebrows drawn together.

‘You always look as if you’re _concentrating_ when you’re nearly there.’

‘I - oh, God, yes! Gah!’

‘And now you’ve painted your belly.’

‘Ohhh...’ Julian sighed luxuriously and stretched his legs out over the arm of the couch. ‘Just let me stay here a while.’

‘Head on my belly?’

‘It’s my favourite pillow. Don’t rub my face. Pthth. That’s better... just smoothe my hair, smooooothe.’

Together they dozed off, the sweat cooling on Julian’s skin.


End file.
